[for Eduardo] The Devil Comes to Town

[hasnobullets]

From my sodden jacket, I retrieve my billy club. Running my fingers along the familiar aluminum, I briefly fumble with the mechanism that converts a weapon into a blind man's cane -- something harmless. The motions are instinctive, though, and I find the switch quickly enough. I've spent most of the last year denying my life as Daredevil to anyone

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[pointzerothree]

Between the sunglasses and the cane, the situation isn't too difficult to read. That doesn't stop Eduardo from pausing for just a moment, eyes going wide, before he approaches. He may have been heading in the opposite direction, but that doesn't matter; he can't just walk away without asking if the guy needs help. Given the state of his jacket, still drenched despite the customary heat, he almost has to wonder if he showed up this way, but that's not a conclusion he can just jump to.

"Hey, man," he says from a few feet off, not wanting to startle. "You alright?"

[hasnobullets]

I hear his approach before he says a word, but only just, the sound of his footsteps nearly masked by my own. Five minutes ago, I could've heard him breathing from a mile away. Combined with the change of environment, and it's not even a lie when I shake my head, brows furrowing even as I try to get a better read on my genuinely unexpected company.

Without my heightened senses, it's simpler said than done. Judging by the sound of his voice, we're about the same height, though his accent gives me pause. (American. But there's a hint of something-- Spanish? Portuguese?) If nothing else, he seems too friendly for a would-be kidnapper, but he could just be playing it safe if he suspects who I am. Used to be it would've made a difference if someone had grabbed me as Matt Murdock or Daredevil, but these days...

This would be easier if I could just hear his heartbeat. Search for any irregularities. But my life hasn't been described as easy for a good long while

[pointzerothree]

So he is new, then. Eduardo takes a deep breath, nodding to himself, before he steps closer. He's done this before, the night Olive arrived on the beach still one he remembers with startling clarity, but never with someone who couldn't see where they were. At least, he thinks, the weather is pretty distinctly tropical, nothing like the rain the soaked jacket suggests. It's a moment before he speaks, but only out of necessity, trying to figure out where best to start without the obvious visual aid.

"I'm guessing you mean you were somewhere else a minute ago, not that you took a wrong turn somewhere, right?" he asks, brows furrowing. Best to be sure, at least, with something like this; he doesn't need to go around offering an explanation on the off chance that he's been given one already.

[hasnobullets]

I wonder if I haven't been drugged. Wouldn't be the first time. Not to mention it'd explain a few things. Maybe my elevated heart rate isn't a symptom of barely suppressed panic. The heat could be a fever. My new friend a hallucination. For all I know, the feds caught up with me after my so-called ninja stunt, and now I'm in the back of the van, talking gibberish to myself. There's a thought. But on the off-chance this is all actually happening, even if I haven't the slightest idea how, I shake my head.

That he thinks to ask if I was somewhere else implies he might have some idea of what's going on. That he hasn't tried to hit me yet implies he might share that information willingly.

"Wrong turn? I was in New York," I say, a touch incredulous. "Hell's Kitchen. Which, despite the name, isn't actually known for this kind of weather. That's quite the wrong turn."

[pointzerothree]

"Yeah, no," Eduardo says almost under his breath, head tilting to the side. He was right from the start, and while that isn't surprising, it is steadying, in a sense, giving him some measure of certainty. The name of a place he knows helps, too; he has yet to have to explain the island to someone from a completely different world, and he doesn't much want to have to. This is difficult enough without such a cultural divide factoring in, as well. "This is... Look, this is going to sound really, incredibly crazy, but as hard as it might be to believe, I promise it's true, okay?"

[hasnobullets]

It's not a promising start. Even if he sounds sincere enough, I'd still have a better chance of believing him right off of the bat if I could hear his pulse. I'm tempted to reach out for him. To grab for his wrist under the pretense of needing help to get around. Feel his heart beat instead if I can't hear it. As an option for later, I'm not ruling it out. For now, I decide to listen to his story.

"You'll forgive me if I make that decision for myself," I say, my grip tightening around my cane. "Where am I?"

[pointzerothree]

"You're on an island," Eduardo answers on a heavy exhale, figuring there's no point in dancing around the subject when he's been asked outright. "It's... no one really knows how to explain it, but it happens just like this. You're someplace else, and then you're here. Like I said, it sounds crazy, but that's the basic gist of it." He lifts a hand to his forehead, thumb rubbing at his temple. This probably shouldn't be such a big deal, and for someone else, it might not be, but he can't help wanting to make sure he gets it right all the same. "A lot of people have called it a pocket universe, just, no one knows exactly how it works."

[hasnobullets]

Pocket universe. That's not the sort of terminology just anyone throws around. (Reed Richards, Stephen Strange, or Tony Stark? Sure. But those are all people who would know how to explain it. By this man's own admission, he's about a degree of separation away from being as clueless as I am.) There's no enemy of Daredevil who has this sort of power. If they did, they wouldn't have sent a messenger in their stead. A trick like this deserves a good gloat, and there's not a single bad guy out there who wouldn't take a moment out of their schedule to crow about their success. They all sign their work.

Which brings me back to my earlier theory that I've been drugged. With what, I don't know. (That's a recurring theme. Uncertainty. The ground beneath my feet feels solid enough, but it's not the ground I should be standing on.) Mysterio managed to fool my senses in the past, who's to say someone couldn't do it again? It could even be Mysterio. He wouldn't be the first lowlife to discover death's expiration date. Hell, it seems, has a

[pointzerothree]

"Believe me, I wish it were," Eduardo replies with a huff of a laugh that doesn't sound amused at all. His memories of the day he arrived here are strange: parts more vivid than he would like (mostly before the arrival itself), parts all blurred together, parts somewhere in between. He's fairly certain, though, that he asked the same thing, something about the words ringing a bell though he'd been high on adrenaline and brokenhearted at the time. Now, mere hours after waking up from two days spent (ostensibly) back home, he can begrudgingly acknowledge the benefits of being here, but he would still choose to return. There's a lot, in fact, that he'd like to believe is a joke; he'd take even Facebook being one if it meant he could go back to how things were. "That is... exactly what you're supposed to believe, though. I was in an office; someone else I know was in a parking lot. Whatever's responsible for this isn't exactly picky."

[hasnobullets]

"Whatever's responsible?"

The phrasing strikes me as peculiar. (It's not the only thing, but my focus is all over the place. Stick once told me that everyone used to be born with my heightened abilities. That my radar could be relearned. I try to let my other senses paint the picture I can't see, but finding some measure of calm to work with proves difficult when my mind's reeling from the implications of this man's words.)

"I don't understand. You... don't even know who brought us here?"

[pointzerothree]

"Not a clue," Eduardo confirms, shaking his head, though it's a gesture that he supposes is solely for his own benefit. "A lot of people talk about, you know, the island did it, like the place is sentient, but that's bullshit, if you ask me, I mean, it's an island." Somewhere, there's got to be some reasonable explanation; of that, he is entirely certain. They just don't know what it is, and he isn't sure they ever will.

[hasnobullets]

"An island you were transported to against your will for reasons unknown," I point out, playing devil's advocate for the sake of wrapping my own head around the notion. I've heard of stranger situations. I've been in stranger situations. But the loss of my senses throws a spanner in the works, and denial that this is even happening continues to make the most compelling argument.

"If not that, then what?"

[pointzerothree]

"No idea," Eduardo says, shrugging helplessly. "Really, your guess is as good as mine." What it says that that can be true after two and a half months here, he doesn't know and doesn't want to, but it isn't something he can lie about, either, especially not to someone who's only just arrived. Maybe it makes him ill-equipped to try to explain this, but he's never been able to walk away when needed. He's here now; no one else is. Remembering himself, he winces. "I'm Eduardo, by the way. Eduardo Saverin."

[hasnobullets]

Less than an hour ago, a man shot himself in the head right in front of me. It's not the first time that's happened. I pray it'll be the last. Point is, it's been a rough day. One that's followed a long and arduous series of rougher days. And now I'm expected to just accept the fact that my life's been overturned. Again. Because despite my deadened senses, it doesn't escape my notice that he's made no mention of how it is I'm meant to get back to New York. And given what little I know of this place -- and let's be clear, I know very little -- I can't imagine the journey home will be an easy one, if there's a journey to make at all.

"Matt Murdock," I say, distracted by my own thoughts. I remember to stick out my hand, eventually, though it's wet, still, from the rain. "I'm an attorney. Making wild guesses about the alleged sentience of an island I've only just been brought to is a little outside my wheelhouse."

[pointzerothree]

"I am - was - an Econ major," Eduardo offers as he takes Matt's hand to shake it, all warm professionalism, a tone of understanding in his voice. "So I know what you mean." He'd done a fair amount of science in school, but that had been physics mostly to further his interest in meteorology. To call this out of his league would be a massive understatement.

He thinks less about that, though, than he does the irony inherent in having met a lawyer a day after he'd actually needed one. It makes it a shame, really, that he couldn't pursue the same option here even if Mark were on the island. Just to make a point, he would do it. "It is... nice to meet you, Matt, despite the whole potentially sentient island thing."

[hasnobullets]

In spite of the assurance that we're in the same boat, I doubt he's half expecting to wake up in the back of a fan filled with federal agents any second. (Or is he? If I think I'm unconscious or drugged, that would make him a figment of my imagination. So he'd know what I know. Which isn't much. But we've covered that. I'm already turned around. Retreading old territory in the hopes it'll make more sense the second time around isn't helpful when all it's doing is leading me in circles. So I need to operate on the assumption that this really happening, with the caveat that maybe it's not. And if it is happening, I can think of a laundry list's worth of reasons for why someone would want to get me out of the way. What I can't figure out is who has the motive and the power to send me to a tropical island without warning, let alone strip me of my abilities in the process. It's like I've stepped into someone else's story